Pandemic: Beginnings: A Post-Apocalyptic Medical Thriller Fiction Series (The Pandemic Series Book 1)

by Bobby Akart

  “Yes, sir, I understand the economic and political impact of a terror warning. I just don’t want to be perceived as dropping the ball if it happens.”

  “Understood. Now, there’s something else regarding the treatment, isn’t there?”

  Mac swallowed as she prepared to give him the worst news. “The patients in Guatemala are not responding to the antibiotics.”

  “I know,” he interrupted. “Isn’t it likely due to the late introduction to medical attention?”

  “It’s not just the villagers, sir. There are now two new infected patients—a pathologist who conducted a sloppy autopsy early on, and his untrained nurse who assisted in the procedure. Their conditions have deteriorated despite the antibiotic regimen.”

  “What are you suggesting? Is this strain antibiotic and antimicrobial resistant?”

  “Based upon the clinical reports from the field, it’s a possibility. I need approval to introduce colistin as a treatment option. I think this should be done immediately.”

  “Done, I’ll advise Baggett. Also, I want you in Guatemala City tomorrow. I don’t need to paint a picture of what a world with an uncontrollable strain of plague would look like, do I?”

  Mac simply shook her head. She’d already envisioned that possibility.

  Chapter 51

  Day Eighteen

  Izmir, Turkey

  Bill Rollins had no idea what caused his wife’s illness. His wife of forty-three years had always been the picture of health. Through their years of unselfish missionary work around the world, they’d always been mindful of what they ate and drank and the real possibility of communicable diseases in the areas they traveled.

  When the Turkish government suddenly announced that the refugee camps would be closed and their residents forced to go home or move along to their destination, he expressed frustration. He, and other members of the First Baptist Church in Austin, were there to help, and their good work was just getting started. He had no stomach for politics and, of course, had no inkling of the bioterror plot unfolding around him. Nor would he care.

  Thousands of miles from home, in an unfamiliar place, Rollins shuddered as a wave of panic gripped his body. He looked down to the love of his life, Wanda Rollins, and begged her to hang on.

  “Please, Wanda, talk to me. Can you look at me, sweetheart? Please.”

  But Wanda was unable to respond. Her breathing was shallow and her pulse had weakened. Again and again, Bill cried out into the scorching hot night—thick with the stench of sweat and sickness, amid the grotesque moans of the dozens of people huddled outside the small clinic located on the outskirts of Izmir. Roads leading into the city were now blocked to prevent the refugees from entering. President Erdogan had shown them the exit, and the path led out of Turkey and nowhere else.

  Bill’s heart was racing. How could this be happening? He couldn’t be losing her. They’d known each other since they were children!

  He had no idea what was wrong, and he cursed himself for not insisting that she seek help. But Wanda, the consummate Christian missionary, wanted to make sure every last refugee departing for greener pastures in Europe had supplies for their journey. She’d persevered through the headaches, fevers, and difficulty breathing—dismissing the symptoms as a bug of some sort. But this morning, when she woke up with bloody drool on her pillow, she’d become alarmed.

  It had taken Bill all morning to find transportation, only to be turned away at multiple entry points to the city. Eventually, with the guidance of a taxi driver, the Rollins found their way to this medical facility, which wasn’t much more than an outpatient clinic. Along with several dozen other families, he waited his turn.

  Bill looked with dismay as his wife began another violent coughing episode. She sounded like she was drowning. Then more blood spewed out of her mouth onto his face, which he quickly wiped off with his sleeve. He couldn’t wait any longer.

  He frantically looked forward, hoping to see a doctor, a nurse, a soldier, someone—anyone—besides the sick, who could help. He didn’t dare leave Wanda alone. What if he took too long? What if he was detained? He could never forgive himself.

  Despite his advanced years, Bill was strong and he was on a mission. He scooped up Wanda’s limp and lifeless body and rushed her out of the waiting line toward the entrance to the clinic. He elbowed his way past other sick people with their families, drawing shouts of protest and threats of violence.

  Bill and Wanda arrived at the steel security gates that protected the simple block and tile building with grate-covered windows. His heart raced faster. The muscles in his arms were burning. His legs were ready to collapse. But he stood tall as he cried, begging the armed soldiers for entry to save his beloved wife.

  “You have to allow me to bring my wife inside,” he pleaded with the guards. “She’s burning up from fever. She’s gravely ill and needs help now!”

  As Bill raised his voice, the guards raised their weapons in an attempt to calm him. Suddenly, the two main doors to the clinic opened up and a nurse covered in a white Tyvek suit with gloves, goggles, and a face mask approached the steel gate.

  “Come closer,” the nurse instructed Bill. He pushed past the guards. The nurse placed a temporal thermometer on Wanda’s head. She never made eye contact with Bill as she placed two fingers on Wanda’s neck.

  “Please, you must help my wife,” Bill begged once again.

  “I am sorry, sir, but I cannot.”

  Tears streamed down Bill’s face. “Why, why not? Please.”

  “Sir, I cannot because your wife is dead.”

  *****

  Throughout the night, Bill Rollins grieved, holding his wife’s limp body in his lap as he leaned against a dead olive tree outside the clinic. He was oblivious to the dozens of other infected patients who had arrived seeking treatment. Around him, nine bodies lay in a dead heap, having succumbed to the deadly plague.

  By noon, the bodies were piling up and the smell of death permeated the air. Turkish soldiers arrived with a bulldozer and dug a mass grave in the desert nearby. Without ceremony or prayer, Wanda Rollins was dumped in the grave and covered up as Bill watched in disbelief. What was happening? And why?

  Bill Rollins boarded the first flight out of Izmir that afternoon, carrying nothing but his Bible and a photograph of his beloved Wanda. And he was carrying the plague. In fourteen days, he died at his home in Austin, surrounded by friends and family.

  Chapter 52

  Day Eighteen

  Defense Threat Reduction Agency

  Project Artemis Briefing

  Fort Belvoir, Virginia

  Hunter waited in the conference room as the rest of the Project Artemis team made their way to Fort Belvoir. While he waited, he studied the maps provided by the NSA analysts of ISIS troop movements. In the war on terror, you were fighting an unidentified enemy. They didn’t wear uniforms. There were no identifying markings like tattoos or gang symbols worn on their clothing. They walked among us in most cases, just like the 9/11 hijackers. But now, they had cover, camouflage, in the form of hundreds of thousands of migrants entering Europe, America, and other nations around the world who’d extended their hand of freedom and hope.

  The people who’d taught Hunter the most in his career were the ones who pointed out what he didn’t see, not the obvious. Hunter was now firmly convinced ISIS was using an infectious disease, probably the deadliest form of plague, as a low-tech weapon of bioterror.

  From what he’d learned from Mac and some additional research on his own, the plague wouldn’t have to be weaponized to wreak strategic global infection. The Madagascar strain, likely stolen or procured from the biosafety lab in Gabon, could be used by terrorists who were willing to intentionally infect themselves and then disseminate the deadly virus via the world’s air transportation system.

  The yellow dots shown on the wall-mounted monitors reflected the locations of known operatives. The pattern was unmistakable. Dozens of dots flowed from Damascus to Havana a
nd Caracas. Hundreds of dots crossed the Mediterranean Sea from Libya to Italy and Greece, and from Turkey into Eastern Europe. It looked like a map of General George Patton’s advance on the forces of the Third Reich during World War II.

  Hunter was still in thought when his trusted comrade Kameel Khan joined his side. “Here’s the problem with this graphic, my friend. The dots only represent the soldiers of Allah that the NSA is aware of. Perhaps just one percent of the total.”

  “I agree,” added Hunter. “If the last intercepted communications are read correctly, they’ve sent the women and children into hiding while the men invade Western civilization.”

  “This is definitely coordinated,” said Khan. “There will be bombings, stolen vehicles run through open marketplaces, and mass shootings.”

  Hunter remained quiet, processing everything that he’d learned. “No.”

  “What?” asked Khan as he quickly turned his attention to Hunter.

  “No, this is different. Bigger.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Khan, think about it. If a jihadist is willing to strap a bomb to his chest or empty several magazines into a crowded theater, knowing he’ll die in exchange for a few dozen infidels, what would stop him from acting as a human carrier for the deadliest infectious disease known to man—the plague?”

  Jablonik and several other members of the team entered the room and the briefing was set to get under way. Hunter had spoken with Jablonik earlier in the day regarding the recent findings at the CDC. Hunter, through Jablonik, had a direct pipeline into the CDC that transcended Mac’s operational level. He would soon have to make a decision regarding his relationship with her. He didn’t like the thought of withholding information from someone he cared about.

  “Okay, people, let’s get started. It’s gonna be a late night and an early morning tomorrow for you all. To begin this briefing, I’ll hand out your team assignments and travel docs. As you can tell by the monitor, we’ve got a lot of cockroaches to chase down. You can’t fight terrorism on a laptop or a cell phone. We’ve got to get boots on the ground and confirm what we think we know.”

  Hunter and Khan made their way to a couple of seats at the rear of the room before Jablonik caught their attention. “Hunter, Khan, up here with me.”

  Jablonik slid dossiers and folders to each member of Project Artemis. Hunter and Khan were paired together, as expected. They’d established a good working relationship and a level of trust like two cops who got in their squad car every morning unsure of what the day might bring, but knowing they had each other’s backs.

  “Thanks to some excellent detective work by Hunter while he was in Africa, we believe we’ve unmasked one of the largest, most deadly terror plots in the history of mankind. Yeah, that sounds overdramatic like it came from some Hollywood movie trailer, but the facts are indisputable. And, I might add, there’s precedent for this.”

  Jablonik pulled out the chair at the head of the table and settled in. He took a moment to look around the room to make sure he had everyone’s attention. As everyone turned their attention to Jablonik, he provided a quick history lesson.

  “We have some folks on loan from the FBI, so for their benefit, let me remind all of you the idea of using biological weapons has been around for centuries. In the fourteenth century, the Black Death, as the bubonic plague was widely referred to, was responsible for the death of a third of Europe’s population. The mortality numbers in the Middle East and Northern Africa were just as large.

  “The Black Death was considered the greatest public health disaster in history. What most people don’t know is how the plague was introduced into Europe. In 1346, in the ancient city of Caffa on the Crimean Peninsula, a battle raged against the city and its protected walls. Italian sea merchants assisted in the fight by blocking the ports to the city, cutting off their supplies

  “But the crowning blow was when the attackers began to heave plague-stricken bodies over the walls. In short order, the inhabitants of Caffa were infected, but so were the merchant ships that assisted in the blockade. When they returned to Italy via the ancient city of Constantinople, at the time the largest and wealthiest city in Europe, the plague was spread into Europe.

  “I’m reminding you of this for a reason. We’re fighting an enemy who plays by a different set of rules than we do. I’d like to believe that our government, and most Western powers, would never resort to the use of biological weapons. ISIS, however, has no moral compass. They are the modern-day heathens, similar to the Barbarians of the Middle Ages. History is repeating itself today.”

  Jablonik continued by bringing the team up to date. Although he espoused to Hunter’s working theory developed with Mac, he still wanted to rule out other possibilities. He assigned two teams to investigate the eighteen repositories around the world that traded in plague bacteria. He pointed out that in the last five years, twenty-seven research laboratories had published papers on Y. pestis, but only four had ordered the cultures from the approved repositories. Where did the others get the bacterium? The Internet?

  Hunter and Khan were assigned to Guatemala. The local military police had interrogated a pharmacist from the small town of Corinto, Honduras. The man had entered the country and was accused of purchasing black-market antibiotics from gangs in Guatemala City, which drew the attention of the Joint Task Force Tecún Umán, a new antigang unit within Guatemala’s law enforcement structure.

  The man had become nervous and attempted to flee during the interrogation. He began shouting jihadi phrases in Arabic, which were interpreted to mean the Black Death was coming and the infidels would die. Jablonik picked up on this during his weekly Homeland Security briefing and thought it would be worthy of investigation by Project Artemis.

  Hunter coordinated his departure for Guatemala with Khan and then started home to pack. On the way, he made a phone call.

  Chapter 53

  Day Eighteen

  Fort Belvoir, Virginia

  “Hey, Mac, this is Hunter.”

  “Well, you sound serious,” Mac said into the phone. Hunter certainly wasn’t in a bad mood. Contemplative would be more accurate.

  “No, I’m sorry. I just got out of a briefing that expanded on what we discussed at dinner last week. A lot has developed that, well, is surreal.”

  Mac was silent for a moment; then she spoke. “Let me tell you about my day. First, I’m satisfied that the Madagascar strain is a match to our other three outbreaks, but with a slight wrinkle.”

  “A wrinkle?” asked Hunter.

  “Yeah, a genetic modification is the best way I can describe it. There will be some testing required and further patient study in order to get a handle on it. Nothing that time can’t solve.”

  Hunter shook his head as he accelerated, bringing the Corvette just over eighty miles an hour. Time was something they might not have.

  “The trouble is you may think you have time, but others may have different plans for your use of it,” added Hunter.

  “Whoa, buddy, that’s pretty deep and philosophical. Are you gonna tell me what’s goin’ on, or am I gonna have to bust out our secret stash of truth serum?”

  Hunter laughed in appreciation of Mac trying to brighten his spirits. Then he got a second wave of chuckle when he thought about her truth serum. If she only knew what was in the DTRA’s pharmaceutical arsenal.

  “Ha-ha, very funny. No truth serum or waterboarding necessary. Listen, we haven’t had that much time together to, you know, talk.”

  “You’re married,” Mac shot back.

  “Huh? No, I’m not married.”

  “Gay?”

  “Enough! No.” Hunter now laughed in earnest at Mac’s playfulness. All of his concern was washed away and he was able to shake off the malaise resulting from the prospect of an army of human carriers of a disease that had the potential to kill millions. “I need to tell you more about my work and some intel I’ve received. Also, I have to travel to Guatemala to chase a lead that might re
late to your investigation there.”

  “Really? I’m flying to Guatemala City early in the morning with my associate Janie. Remember? You met her in the tent.”

  “Of course, she was just as protective of your turf as you were. You two make a formidable pair. Do you have a break in your investigation?”

  Mac hesitated and then her voice became serious. Both of them had thoughts weighing heavily on their minds. “I’m afraid that the infected patients from the second village are not responding to the antibiotic treatment. It could be the disease was too advanced or that the strain has been modified.”

  “Modified?” asked Hunter.

  “Hunter, I don’t know and I’m going out on a limb with this hypothesis because I simply don’t have enough live cases to study. But I believe Y. pestis has been modified into a superbug, one that is antibiotic resistant.”

  Hunter’s heart raced and so did his car. He was unknowingly topping ninety miles an hour and caught himself. Being stopped by law enforcement wasn’t a concern because his identification acted like a get out of jail free card, but with his mind elsewhere besides the road, his reaction time would be delayed at that speed.

  “Are you saying it can’t be stopped?” he asked.

  “Let’s not go there yet. I’m bringing a supply of colistin, an antibiotic of last resort, as it’s called in the pharmaceutical field. I need to administer the regimen to some test patients whose health hasn’t deteriorated too far.”

  “I’ll be at the Civil National Police station first thing; then I’ll join you. I will have someone with me from the DTRA. We work on the same project together.”